No limits to make us sane
by Bew0G
Summary: Rated M: The story picks up right where "Harvey" episode 8x16 left off.


_**No limits to make us sane**_

_A Donna & Harvey fanfiction_

Donna was no tiny beauty. He didn't carry her nor tossed her onto the couch. Instead, she felt him struggling as she held his hand leading him to her bedroom. She thought they'd be bouncing off pieces of furniture at the rate their hearts were beating: wanting each other. The bedroom door was open. She let go of his hand, testing his resolve one last time and walked in first, focused on the bed in front of her. It wasn't about giving him a way out before it was too late. She heard the click of the door being closed and shuddered in anticipation. Love is like a sin when made in a dark room.

The curtains were drawn but the New York City building lights were like a thousand beams painting just enough to give the room that nighttime velvet hued atmosphere; like a cold past and warm present finding their way back to each other and ready to collide. Enough to see each other but not enough to be anything but senses and pleasure; a most perfect setting, combination of darkness and light – as comfortable as the offices they'd spent most of their nights in together for the longest of time: needing one another, drinking, flirting or joking around and nothing more. But this was about to change. It had already changed.

His gaze fell on her bare shoulders as he noticed her part her flaming red hair to the side. Anxiety seemed to have surfaced for the first time since he'd come inside. This wasn't an act. She was just as scared as he'd been some three minutes ago. His gait was slow but determined and she gasped when she felt him press himself against her, circling his hands at her waist, seeking the hem of her tank top. Hard. Harder than he was a minute ago against her thigh and readier than the other men she'd been with. He kissed her earlobe and slowly descended to the pulsing hollow of her neck, panting against every inch of skin he came across.

She was looking at the next hours of her life through this perfect man's lens: his need. His kisses were hurried and soft at the same time. Thrusting her hips forth to a bare minimum so as to not lose their intimate contact, she easily found a better angle and leaned into him more urgently as she felt his hands caress her stomach. She placed her hands on the top of his head urgently as if she could bury them in his short hair. Massaging and pulling until she felt his chin on her shoulder. He was staring at her plunging neckline, his hot breath titillating her skin between kisses. As if she wouldn't know he was enjoying the view.

The straps of her bra secured her breasts tightly, pressed together and pushed up as if they were set this way just for him; in the most intimate of angles. For his own fantasy; voyeuristic and perverse after so many years apart sexually. He'd defined her as an ultimate fantasy and goal without even admitting to it – every day for the better part of thirteen years. But he'd defined her as so much more. His breath hitched when his name left her lips, pleading: "Harvey…"

All of the pieces of clothing were becoming too much. Harvey was desperate to take everything off of her himself, hoping time would freeze so that he would be able to hang on to his sanity, his control and self.

She turned around and slowly his gaze lifted and his eyes held hers. She cupped his cheek and pressed her lips against his before whispering seductively: "What are we waiting for?"

Time was the one thing he thought he always had with her. But time was relative when the woman he desperately wanted was in front of him. He loved her for longer than he'd known and he would love her until the end. But he didn't have that kind of time on his hands – with the woman under them – as hips and waistline were dancing slowly into his dick.

He smirked when he felt her bite his earlobe the way he'd done previously and started running his hands under her top only to yank it off of her when she raised her arms above her head to help. Her smile was the most sensuous of all when it came to sex and the only times he'd been reminded of that was when they'd flirt. He squatted down and began tugging down her pants and undergarments tantalizingly slow in his descent. She moaned when she felt his lips covering her mound. He trailed wet kisses along the patch of hair and outer edges of her groin – noting the moisture of her arousal as it dribbled from the slit. His hands stroked her thighs until silk and cotton touched the floor beneath her feet. He could feel her tugging at his hair as he stood back up, his forehead never breaking contact with her abdomen. He found her cleavage and nudged her sternum with his nose.

She unclasped her bra for him for she desired him naked just as much. She threw her bra and it landed on the armchair to the left side of the bed. This wasn't some accidental affair but this was supposed to be the rush of a lifetime and he was taking it slow. He grinned too at her exertion – the kind that only accentuated her femininity and after he'd allowed himself a couple more seconds to take in her breasts he quickly yanked his tie away. He barely had time to start opening his shirt that she was already working on his pants. Harvey got rid of his shoes – and thought to hell with taking his socks off. He undid the cufflinks of his shirt and pulled it over his head. She chuckled at how cute he looked with his tousled hair only to be reminded seconds later of how fit his upper body was. His pecs, boxing arms and small hair were a call back to Donna's most primal reality – the other time. So distant a memory and yet more vivid than the lustful kisses they'd just shared. He threw his shirt on the armchair and as his gaze fell back on her, Harvey couldn't help but toss her on the bed for she'd been biting her bottom lip in the sexiest way possible.

Sprawled on the bed, she couldn't help but enjoy the sight of him. She grabbed a box of condoms from the nightstand and as she picked one, her hazel eyes widened when he got rid of his pants and tugged his boxers down. She licked her lips watching the cock she had every recollection of spring free. His warm hand closed over his length, giving it a few strokes.

He tilted his head to the side and smirked, conveniently neglecting to remind her he'd gasped against her own intimacy. She probably _had _felt it anyway. "I thought you'd gasp."

"I've seen it before, you know?" She challenged.

"Give me that condom," he ordered as if nothing had changed between them. Even if deep down, he knew everything had.

She pretended to pester at him but as she handed him the small wrapping, she yanked him her way so that he landed on top of her.

"Gotcha," she said playfully before resting her hands at the nape of his hair.

"You got me." He smiled and brushed his lips against her nose. As a response her need kicked back in: she searched his lips and roamed her hands on his back, taking a feel of his ass, stroking his waist and abdomen until she could get her hands on the most desired prize. Making him feel the way he'd made her feel a few minutes ago when he'd tasted her center. She forced him on his back and snatched the condom back from his hand before straddling him. He was stuck between her thighs, his fingers dug into her freckled flesh as he got the most earth-shattering preview of her core. Barely rubbing against him and yet trapping him as she trailed kisses all over his chest.

"Donna," he grunted, feeling his eyes roll at the back of his head when she began dragging her fingertips along his length, grazing his balls in the process. He snatched her hand with his to stop her strokes and looked into her eyes. They weren't pleading. They were bright, and somehow he knew – just the way she always did – that they were telling him not to pause. Not to find a way to talk and delay the inevitable. She wasn't struggling for dominance. She wanted his passion to swell at the control she could display over him.

Harvey knew what this was about because he felt it too. They were so in love with each other they didn't know where to begin. How to perfectly be when there was no need to be anything but wrong, messy and tangled in incorrect positions.

They'd had too long to think it through. She _was_ woman enough to force herself down on him – she was Donna, she'd guided him inside once. He watched her tear up the wrapping, take the condom out and threw his head back, closing his eyes at the cool feeling of Donna – three times former secretary, one night lover extraordinaire – rolling it onto his cock. His one and only real love; the one that almost got away.

It was unfortunate that she wouldn't get to finish what she'd started. He hauled her to him and pinned her back on the bed. He wanted to take her; make her understand just how capable of looking at her this way he'd always been: beautiful, independent. The necessity to show her how devastated he was for having kept her at arm's length for so long was stronger than his wildest fantasies. They'd have time for that he thought guiding his cock between her parted thighs. She knew when she cupped his check, stroking it with just a hint of determination. But this was her giving in and clinging to fearless atonement; for a misguided rule that had broken and made them at the same time. He gazed down at her and started fixing physically what too many words would take to repair emotionally. He plunged into her last shred of control and his body froze seeing her gasp in between missing heartbeats until she moaned faster than a speeding bullet. This was his selfish reward.

And she wouldn't have had it any other way. To feel and to connect for the first time after so many years, hopes and shattered dreams. To watch him focused on nothing but her. No work, no office, no bottle of wine to pretend it was just a friendly visit with another unexpected admission – whatever the depth of them: love and pity. Love her how, love her twice and trusted judgement or unwavering faith gone amiss. She wanted to say nothing but the three words that mattered even though they didn't define them. She placed her hands on his ass as he began sliding out; to force him back in, needing the past she remembered, the present that took too long and the future that would have her come so fast he wouldn't be able to thrust fast enough to catch up. The headboard of the bed shook to the rhythm of his hips. Reveling in the hurt on impact and build up the friction of him inside of her created, she realized they were way past needing words. Words were them.

His buried his head in the crook of her neck when he felt his arms give up. She wanted to roll herself onto him but their newfound physical law was tantamount to those years of silent I-love-yous, leaving her breathless and stuck under his weight. At the mercy of who she once sought out: her boss. Except for the fact that he wasn't any more, for, as partners and equals, they were finally communicating their emotional attachment at the hips. And she was biting, and scratching skin as if searching for the limits to her love. Only to realize there wasn't any.

He sucked on her collarbone and tried exploring her upper-body. He was erratically searching for some space between their bodies, his hands covering the side of her breasts – her erect nipples inaccessible and crushed by the weight of him.

She never had to say 'harder' or 'faster'.

He moaned the most desperate and sexiest of sounds and panted just as heavily as she did while ramming down her intimacy at full speed, slick from sweat with an internal compass leading them nowhere but in and out of each other.

He never had to make sure of anything.

When he finally found her clit he lifted his head up sensing her body releasing all forms of countenance. As her breath quickened, her body voiced itself into a climax the level of which no sexual enticement on his part would have conjured up. He'd compromised his frantic rhythm just to take her in, watching her arching her back. She was his – in the most blissful kind of way, making him come to her pleasure as she kept convulsing around him. He slowed his thrusts and pulled out – empty – his own grunting joining in the guttural tremor that had escaped her mouth. The safe place she'd saved up for him all those years ago, that everyone could see, save for him, had gone back to its rightful owner. And for his eyes and heart only.

She was the limit to his non-caring self. She was his love.

"Donna, that was…" he tried to say before she cut him off.

"Less talking, more of this cause I'm not done with you yet."

The end.

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NLTMUS

NLTMUS

NLTMUS

This fic is dedicated to a bunch of anonymous fangirls (you know who you are) on twitter. It came to life from a NSFW conversation that was insanely hot, sexy and fun. I hope you enjoyed this one. And to those who just discovered it, don't hesitate to tell me what you thought of it.

Thanks to my dear Blue for her love, support and quick beta-ing. I have to tell you that voice recording made my night if not my entire life. What you said about this fic made me feel like I'm not completely out of it yet. So again, you are loved by someone here who admires you more than you know or dares to let you know.

Have a nice read, night or day and thanks for reading me.  
Yours, always,

B.


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